


A wild call and a clear call that may not be denied

by victoria_p (musesfool)



Series: Dog Days of Summer [37]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: dogdaysofsummer, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-07
Updated: 2006-07-07
Packaged: 2018-03-20 06:54:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3640893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musesfool/pseuds/victoria_p
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sirius belongs to the sea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A wild call and a clear call that may not be denied

When Sirius is a child, summers are spent on the cool, shady banks of a magically made lake on Black family property somewhere in the Cotswolds. He takes to the water like he was born to it, and his mother jokes that he must be part fish, her red-painted mouth curved in an indulgent smile. Her hands are bone white, as if the sun has never touched her, and his own skin, even without the tan that turns him into a walking bronze statue, always looks dark and foreign when he holds her hand.

Before he's old enough to figure out where the lake is (even then he tries to escape and they catch him close before he can, his mother’s lips cool and dry against his forehead, _Sirius, dear, don’t be difficult_ , and, _This hurts me more than it hurts you, darling,_ when she punishes him, the sting of that elegant hand against his bum, and later, once, when he understands and provokes her, across his mouth), they stop going.

He never finds it again.

The first time he swims in the ocean, he decides it doesn’t matter.

*

Sirius strips down and steps into the ocean.

"Bloody fuck, Moony! It’s cold," he yelps, skittering back up the shore, away from the incoming tide.

Remus, already in up to his hips and pushing forward against the water, turns and grins, even white teeth gleaming brightly and brown hair haloed gold in the early morning sunshine. Sirius feels something in his chest lurch. He wonders briefly if the cold water has brought on a heart attack, and he thinks of endless lines of ancestors who died young, one of the fatal flaws in the pure blood nobody ever talks about.

"Catch me if you can," Remus taunts, diving gracefully into an oncoming wave, body curved and sleek like a dolphin’s.

Sirius catches his breath and runs into the water, galvanized by the challenge. He's still the strongest swimmer he knows, and he cuts through the water like a shark and captures Remus in his arms, all that bare skin sliding against his a shock of heat even in the cold water. Chest to chest, he can feel Remus’s heart beating the same rapid drumbeat as his own, and Remus’s eyes are dark, his lashes wet and spiky, in the moment before Sirius leans in and kisses him, tasting salt and heat and lust. Sirius loses himself in Remus’s mouth, the way he loses himself in the water, body suddenly weightless and easily bent to his will.

They're separated only by the onslaught of another wave, and they let it carry them back to shore, where they lie and kiss, exploring this new thing between them until they are breathless and sticky and covered in salt.

Later, sitting round the breakfast table with James and his family, Sirius can still feel the Remus’s kisses tickling his skin like waves.

*

The water is cold and choppy, but he swims it with determination, pushing long-unused muscles almost past endurance, knowing Harry needs him and eager to put the sea between himself and the horrors of Azkaban.

Perhaps he’s finally run mad--another unspoken flaw of this pure blood flowing through his veins--but he is free at last.

When he stands on the far shore, shivering in his matted fur from the chill of the water and the exhaustion of fighting it, the sting of salt in paws damaged from the rocks, the grey expanse of the sea is a comfort.

*

The sand beneath his back is fine and powdery, and the water is bluer than anything he’s ever seen, framed by the curve of Remus’s neck and shoulder as they move together in ways so familiar it’s as if no time has passed, but Sirius feels every stroke, every inch of skin, every grain of sand and brush of lips and hair and fingers so intensely he can’t believe he’s ever felt it before. His hands grasp at Remus’s ropy biceps, the lean line of his hips, the sweet curve of his arse, and he arches up to meet every thrust, his choked cries drowned out by the harsh cries of gulls, the pounding of the surf, and the rush of his own blood, pulsing with need and pleasure.

When they're done, Remus rolls off of him, and they lie there, breathless and sandy, trading kisses that taste of the sea, and Sirius knows he's finally come home.

*


End file.
